Game Over
by Blue-Five
Summary: Aliens AU - Stiles Stilinski survived a massacre on the towing vessel Beacon Hillover 50 years ago. Now he's going back to the planet that spawned the xenomorph ... but this time he's taking the Colonial Marines.
1. Chapter 1

Stiles blinks when as he gradually wakes up. A nurse checks his bio-stats and smiles down at him.

"How are we today?"

"Terrible." Stiles responds.

"Well, better than yesterday, at least."

Stiles struggles to sit up. He looks around, disoriented. "Where am I?"

"You're safe," the nurse assures him. "You're on Gateway Station. You've been here a couple of days. Groggy for a while, but now you're ok. Hey, looks like you have a visitor."

A man dressed in an expensive suit walked in carrying, of all things, an orange cat. Stiles feels his heart leap into his throat and he grins broadly as the animal is set down in his lap.

"Jonesey! How are you, you stupid cat?" Stiles smiles at the feline. "Where have _you_ been, dude?"

The man sits beside Stiles' bed and looks at them quietly. "I suppose you two have met, then? My name is Hale … Peter Hale. I work for the company but don't let that color your opinion of me. I'm a nice guy, actually."

Stiles says nothing. He simply holds the cat and looks at the man with his too-smug face.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Stiles. They say the disorientation and dizziness will fade eventually … just the natural side-effects of such an unusually long hypersleep."

Stiles frowns. "What do you mean? How long was I out there?"

Peter looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Has no one – discussed this with you yet?"

Stiles swallows and shakes his head. He pets Jonesey a little too hard and the cat mewls in protest.

"No … I mean, I don't recognize this place," Stiles says looking out the large picture window that shows him a spectacular view of Earth.

Peter clears his throat nervously. "Well … this may come as a shock to you."

"How long?" Stiles asks. When Peter remains mute, Stiles frowns. "_How long_? Please."

"57 years."

Stiles blinks. "Uh … what?"

"I'm afraid the number is correct, Stiles. You drifted through the core systems … it's really just blind luck that a deep-salvage team found you when they did," Peter explains sympathetically. "One in a thousand, really."

Peter continues talking about odds and how fortunate Stiles is but the young man isn't really listening anymore. He feels a strange pressure in his chest. Swallowing hard, Stiles presses a hand to his sternum. Jonesey hisses in fear and leaps from the bed. Stiles grunts as the pressure increases, feeling like an extremely bad case of heartburn at first but then growing tighter and tighter like something is sitting on his lungs … on his heart.

"_Oh god_ …" Stiles grunts in pain.

"Are you ok?" Peter asks, confused.

Stiles falls back against the bed and cries out, "_Fuck … oh god! No!"_

He can feel it. The thing that haunts his nightmares. The thing that took Finnstock before any of the rest of them knew what was happening. It's inside him … pushing at his ribcage … trying to get out. Stiles flails, knocking delicate medical equipment off its mount, sending a glass crashing to the floor, sweat pouring from his skin … his back arches off the bed as the pain grows to unimaginable levels. Peter is screaming for someone to help, pressing every button he can reach.

Stiles realizes how this will end … he knows he will die, but he can't let _it_ be born. _It_ has to die before it can escape … before it can do what it did on board the _Beacon Hill_. Before people start disappearing in screams and blood.

"_Kill me! Kill meeeee!"_ Stiles screams as doctors and nurses flood the room, trying to hold him down, thinking he's just seizing or having a psychotic episode.

They don't know … they _can't_ know … he's got one of _them_ inside him … he's death incarnate and they have to _end him_ … they have to make it die inside him … it _can't_ be born …

And then it's too late - Stiles watches in horror as the skin on his chest expands with _something_ pushing out. Something with a hammer-shaped head, pushing and straining from within him to escape and seek darkness to grow and hunt … Stiles throws his head back and screams …

* * *

The nightmare ends with Stiles sitting straight up in bed with a shout, his hand pressed to his chest. He looks down in the darkened room. He's got no blood on him. No sign of trauma to the skin there. He can't feel anything moving inside him. He looks down at the sleeping cat that yawns and blinks its eyes at him, admonishing him for disturbing what was once a nice nap. Stiles sighs.

"Yeah, I know, Jonesey. Guess no one's gonna invite me over for a sleepover any time soon, huh?"

The cat merely purrs while Stiles looks out the window and watches the Earth spin peacefully in space, free of things that go bump in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles watches the files scroll by on the display screen on one end of the conference room. He hugs his arms around himself, trying to get warm. Since he returned he feels cold all the time. Cold and tired. Behind him are the suits from the Company, the same sort of suits that ordered his father to go to a planet to 'investigate' a spacecraft there - and signed his death warrant. Stiles listens to their inane babble for a moment longer before turning, amber eyes flashing.

"I don't understand," Stiles says tiredly. "We've been here for three and a half hours – how many ways do you want me to tell the same fucking story?"

Van Leuwen, the head suit, speaks calmly and reasonably. Stiles imagines him trying to maintain that calm and reasonable exterior when the thing that killed his father was standing in front of him, mouth gaping wide and the glint of another, smaller, mouth residing within. It relaxes him enough to listen to the man.

"Look at it from our perspective, please," Van Leuwen says. "Now you freely admit to detonating the engines of, and thereby destroying, an M-Class star freighter – a rather expensive piece of hardware. _Millions_ of dollars' worth, in fact … minus payload." Van Leuwen crosses his hands in front of him. "The lifeboat's flight recorder corroborates _some_ elements of your account – in that, for reasons unknown, the _Beacon Hill _set down on LV-426, an unsurveyed planet at that time … that it resumed its course and was subsequently set for self-destruct by you for reasons unknown."

Stiles bristles. "_Not_ for 'reasons unknown' – I _told_ you. We set down there on company orders to get this thing, which destroyed my crew … and your fucking million-dollar ship."

"The analysis team went over the lifeboat inch by inch. It found no physical evidence of the creature you describe," Van Leuwen says almost triumphantly.

Stiles snorts in disgust and stands. "Good! That's because I blew it out of the _fucking airlock_!" He turns to watch the files of his friends and crewmates … of his father … still scrolling on the screen. Their lives turned into brief little blurbs of training, job experience and meaningless stats. Death date is the same year for all. Stiles blinks back hot tears at his dad's picture.

_Miss you_, _dad … miss you so much, _Stiles thinks. He hears a voice talking and tunes in again.

"Are there any species like this hostile organism on LV-426?" one of the suits is asking.

A woman who should not be wearing her imitation of a man's suit sits beside Peter Hale. She answers smugly. "No. It's a rock. No indigenous life."

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns to face the woman. "Did I.Q.'s just drop sharply while I was snoozing? Ma'am, I _told_ you already – this thing was _not_ indigenous! It was a derelict spacecraft. It was an _alien_ ship." Stiles taps his index finger against his desk. "It was _not from there._ Do you get it? We homed in on _its_ beacon –"

The woman regards Stiles blankly. "And found something never recorded once … in over 300 surveyed worlds?" She pulls up a file. "'A creature that gestates inside a living human host and has concentrated acid for blood."

Stiles sighs. "Look, I can see where this is going … but I'm telling you that those things exist."

Van Leuwen nods dismissively. "Thank you, Officer Stilinski. That will be all."

"Please … listen to me. Finnstock … he was the crewman that went into that ship … he said he saw _thousands_ of eggs there. _Thousands_."

Van Leuwen leans forward. "_Thank you_ … that will be all."

"Fuck you, that's _not_ all!" Stiles barks, jumping to his feet. "If one, just _one_ of those things gets down here, then that _will_ be all! Then all this shit that you think is so important? You can just kiss all of that good-bye!"

Stiles watches as the suits pick up their various files and walk out of the room. None of them believe him. None of them think he has a sane brain cell left in his head. Peter regards him sadly but Stiles doesn't care. He's lost in the thought of what waits on that planet for an unsuspecting ship like his had been. Looking over, he spots the head suit.

"Van Leuwen?" Stiles blocks the man's path. "Why don't you just check out LV-426?"

The man sighs. "Because I don't have to … there have been people there for over 20 years. None of them ever complained about any hostile organism."

Stiles feels the blood drain out of his face and extremities. "What do you mean? What _people_?"

"Terraformers. Planet engineers. They go in, set up these big atmosphere processors to make the air breathable. Takes decades. It's what we call it a 'shake 'n bake' colony."

Stiles slams his hand into the doorjamb to keep the man put. "How many are there? How many colonists?"

Van Leuwen shrugs. "I don't know … 60, maybe 70 families." He looks pointedly at Stiles' arm until the young man moves it.

Stiles stares in shock at the floor. "Families …oh God in heaven …"

* * *

Later that week, Stiles stares at the wall in his Company-assigned apartment. All things considered, the Company had gone easy since they believed him to be the sole reason they lost a million dollar payload along with a 'very expensive ship'. He has a job doing the same damn thing every single day until he dies. The pay is just enough to survive on and no more. No hope for advancement. No hope for much of anything else. He drinks to help himself sleep with no dreams. He visits his counselor a few times a week. He keeps a loaded gun purchased just a shade on the black market side under his pillow. He has no concerns about human danger. But if one of the monsters that creeps into his dreams nightly ever appears, Stiles intends to die before it reaches him. Such was his life.

Lost in thought, Stiles jerks when the door chime rings. He blinks in surprise and somehow manages to muster up the strength to walk to the door. Opening it, he finds himself looking at Peter Hale and a sharply dressed Colonial Marine behind him.

"Hello, Stiles. This is Lieutenant Harris of the –"

Stiles shuts the door. He has no reason in any universe to want to hear what either man had to say. He wants to walk to his bed and ignore them but he hears Peter's next words. Words that make his heart skip a few beats.

"Stiles … we've lost contact with the colony on LV-426."

Stiles opens the door.

* * *

"Let me get this straight … you guys throw me to the wolves – and now you want me to go back out there?" Stiles asks while adding a little something stronger than cream to his coffee. He hands the other mugs to Hale and Harris. "Forget it. It's not my problem."

"Can I finish?" Peter asks.

"Nope. No way."

"Mr. Stilinski, you wouldn't be going out with the troops," Lieutenant Harris explains. "I could guarantee your safety."

Stiles snorts. Peter spoke up.

"These Colonial Marines are very tough hombres … they pack state-of-the-art firepower … there's nothing they can't handle," Peter looks over at the Marine.

Harris nods. "That's true … we've been trained to deal with situations like this."

Stiles grins. "Then you don't need me … I'm no soldier."

"True," Peter says. "But we don't know exactly what has occurred … it may just be a downed transmitter. If it isn't, I would like you to be there as an advisor … that's all."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I don't have time for this; I need to go to work."

"Right," Peter says softly. "I heard you're working the cargo docks – running loaders and forklifts, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah," Stiles answers. "So?"

"Oh nothing … I think it's good you're keeping busy. And I know it's the only thing you could get … nothing wrong with that."

Stiles puts on his watch and looks over at Peter. The older man has a look on his face like he has the knowledge of the universe sitting at his fingertips.

"What would you say if I told you I could get you reinstated as a flight officer?" Peter offers. "The Company has already agreed to pick up your contract."

"If I go."

"Yes, if you go. It's a second chance, Stiles. I think it would be the best thing in the world." Peter smiles broadly. "Get back out there! Face this thing and get back on the horse!"

"Spare me, Hale," Stiles grumbles. "I've had my psych eval this month."

"I know," Peter says and stands to face Stiles. "I've read it. You wake up every night. Your sheets are soaking with sweat – "

Stiles rounded on the man. "I said no and I fucking mean _no_! Get the hell out of here … I'm not going back and even if I did – I'd be fucking worthless to you anyway."

Peter nods. "Fine. Think about it. Call me."

Peter puts his card on the table and leaves with Harris. Stiles looks at the floor and wonders which is worse – murdering aliens or plain ordinary humans holding his life in their hands.

* * *

"_Noooo!_" The scream punches its way out of his lungs just like the alien he'd been dreaming of would have if he'd been caught by the face hugger. He rubs his chest helplessly for a long time, tears streaming down his face. After splashing water on his face, Stiles makes a decision. Going to his comm panel, he inserts Peter's calling card and waits while it connects. A bleary-eyed man answers. He frowns at Stiles.

"Stiles? Are you alright?" Peter asks.

"Just tell me one thing, Hale. You're going out there to destroy them, right? Not to study? Not to bring back? You're going to wipe them out, right?" Stiles asks.

"That's the plan," Peter answers. "You have my word."

"Fine, I'm in," Stiles replied. He cut the line and stared at the dark screen. Glancing over at Jonesey, he smiled weakly. "Well, look at it this way, fuzzy butt…if I die, I get to meet up with mom and dad a little before schedule. Not a bad trade-off."

Jonesey regarded the human with an unfathomable gaze and went back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles stretches as consciousness returns. He hates the moment of coming out of hypersleep. The feeling of disorientation and grogginess always leaves him defensive and slightly fearful. His dad had solved the problem by making sure he had a familiar scent to wake up to – his pillow. But that talisman was long gone ... lost in the explosion that had claimed the _Beacon Hill_. Along with his father. Stiles sits up and steadies himself by listening to the chatter of the Marines coming to around him.

On one side, a curvaceous redhead lies with her hair neatly trimmed in military code and somehow still fashionable. Looking to his other side, Stiles feels his heart stutter when he sees the tall dark haired man that had situated himself in the sleeper unit beside his own. The woman beside him sighs.

"Ah, Derek ... always a pleasure to wake up to your smiling visage," she says, her voice full of sweet venom.

Stiles watches green eyes look up and blink blearily at the woman. A tired roll elicits a delightful giggle from the woman and Stiles forces himself to look away, mouth dry. He pulls off the bio-sensor pads and eases out of the sleep chamber. The floor is ice-cold … the company sees no reason to heat the floor of the sleeping chambers in anticipation of the comfort of awakening sleepers. On commercial ships like the _Beacon, _it cut into the bottom line and that was unacceptable. On the _Sulaco, _this military vessel … well, Stiles figured it was more or less the same thing. Final line on the bill needed to be as small as possible. The Marines could bring their slippers if it bothered them. He stretches to his full height, reaching for the ceiling before looking at the oncoming sergeant. Stiles misses the way the dark-haired soldier beside him swallows hard and licks his lips at the sight of Stiles' exposed torso.

The sergeant's eyes glimmer slightly in the overhead lights and Stiles remembers that this soldier has had his pupils repaired with bio-ware. Sergeant Deucalion smiles but there is little humor in it as he rallies his troops with a crisp British accent.

"Alright my little sweethearts ... what are we waiting for? Breakfast in bed perhaps? Today is another glorious day in the corps!" Deucalion's voice echoes in the small chamber. "A day in the Marine Corps is like a day on the farm – every meal is a banquet! Every paycheck is veritable fortune! Every formation is a parade! By God, I _love_ the corps!"

Stiles sighs and heads out of the room to his locker. There's a reason he never joined the military. He doesn't see the dark green eyes that follow him.

* * *

Stiles ducks around a brunette who's got the same short hair as everyone else and is doing the fastest series of pull-ups he's ever seen. She flashes him a blinding smile as he moves by. He misses again the look the dark-haired Marine gives him as he walks in his t-shirt and boxers to the locker assigned to him at the beginning of the trip. He ignores the banter of the other soldiers around him. Stiles just hopes all this is a mistake and his biggest nightmare isn't about to become reality.

* * *

The Marines are a trained unit that has seen several tours together. They know each other and they trust each other … they might not like each other, but that doesn't matter on the field. Only that the gun you need at your back is there.

Jackson Whittemore watches Allison Argent do her usual pull-ups. He admires the muscle definition. Lydia Martin, his on-again/off-again fuck-buddy joins her and Jackson's eyes widen at the visual treat. His buddy, Danny Mahealani , laughs beside him and shakes his head.

"Hopeless, Whittemore. Hopeless."

Jackson grins and pulls on his fatigues. "I don't limit myself like you and Hale … _all_ the flowers need me."

"Did you seriously just make a pollination joke?"

Jackson snickers. "Busy bee, that's me."

Allison glances over at Stiles as the young man dresses. She frowns and looks at Lydia while they continue their mini-workout.

"Who's the pale-face?"

Lydia shrugs but they both turn and stand when another female voice speaks up. Erica Reyes, their dropship pilot, is pulling on her flight suit over curves many men wanted to explore. She smoothed back her blonde hair and explained.

"Supposedly he's a consultant or something … says he saw an alien once."

Jackson snorts. "Whoopdee-fuckin'-doo … like any of us are impressed."

"He's pretty," Lydia says with a mischievous smile. Jackson's smile falters but he recovers with a snort and roll of eyes.

Allison laughs softly amused at Lydia's sense of humor. They are the smartgunners of the team … a partnership that requires near-complete synchronization of movement to work smoothly and accurately. Erica chuckles and shares a high-five with the other two. They are the only three women on the team but they are not treated less for their gender. Other Marine teams tease that the three badass bitches of the often-called Wolfpack unit actually had the only balls. None of the men in the Pack dispute the barbs – to a man, they all them owe their lives to the three for one reason or another. Jackson teases Lydia and gets a playful smack to the cheek that makes him grin again. The teasing goes on and no one notices the young man slip out of the locker room. No one but a certain green-eyed Marine.

* * *

In the mess hall, Stiles gets a cup of coffee and sits at the table with Lieutenant Harris and Peter Hale. He hears the raucous outbursts from behind him. A glance over his shoulder shows a younger man Stiles had noticed earlier playing a game of pinfinger with the Marines. The young man has his hand over Jackson's and he begins slowly before picking up a faster rhythm. Stiles smiles faintly at the rising shout from Jackson. He turns back to his breakfast and glances over as the young man sits at their table. Stiles is sipping on his coffee when Peter says something.

"Ah, young Scott … I thought you never missed," Hale comments.

Stiles looks over and feels his blood freeze in his veins. A thin line of milky white fluid squeezes from a cut on the young man's … not young man … _android_'_s_ fingers. Stiles jerks back and looks at Peter accusingly.

"You _never_ said there was an android on board! Why not?!" Stiles barks.

Peter flushes red and looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I – I honestly never thought about it, Stiles. There's always a synthetic on board for missions like this."

Scott looks over. "We prefer the term 'artificial person'

Peter nods. "Right."

"Is there a problem?" Scott asks innocently.

"Yes … uh, Stiles' last trip out … the syn—artificial person malfunctioned. There were, um, deaths and a few deaths involved," Peter explains.

Scott blinks and looks at Stiles in shock. "I'm really surprised to hear that. Was it an older model?"

"Yes, Hyperdyne Systems 120-A2," Peter replies.

"Oh … that explains it then. The A2s always were a little 'twitchy'," Scott turns to Stiles. "You know that couldn't happen now, right? Our behavioral inhibitors won't allow me to harm or, by omission of action, allow to _be_ harmed, a human being."

Scott offers Stiles the cornbread that the human slams out of his hand. "'Scott' is it? You just stay away from me … got it?"

Scott looks at Stiles for a moment and then nods. He gets up and leaves immediately. Stiles stares at his eggs. This mission just got better and better.

* * *

In the hanger, the Marines gather in a loose-knit group to be debriefed. Stiles stands with Harris, Hale and Deucalion. He feels small and out of place amidst the better built bodies of the Marines. And every time he looks back, he sees the dark-haired Marine with green eyes watching him intently. It was unnerving, but Stiles couldn't say he didn't like it. Harris clears his throat and starts his speech.

"Morning, Marines. Sorry we didn't have time to brief you people before we left Gateway – "

"Sir?" Jackson asks.

"What is it Hale?" Harris snaps.

"Whittemore, sir," Jackson corrects. He jerks his thumb beside him at Derek. "He's Hale."

Stiles frowns and glances over at Peter. The older man nods slightly. "Over-eager nephew … but I suppose if this is what makes him happy …" Peter says disdainfully.

Stiles raises his eyebrows but he smiles.

_Good for you, handsome_, Stiles thinks. He looks up and the inscrutable green eyes are watching him steadily. This time he holds the look until the man glanced away to what Jackson was asking.

"Sir," Jackson continues. "Is this gonna be a stand-up fight, sir, or just another bug-hunt?"

Harris purses his lips. "All we know is that there's still no contact with the colony and that a xenomorph may be involved."

Jackson frowns. "Excuse me, sir … a _what_?"

Lydia looks over her shoulder. "It's a bug hunt."

Derek speaks for the first time in Stiles' presence. The young man finds the voice goes straight to a part of him he doesn't really want to be introducing to this crowd. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Harris looks over. "Stiles?"

Stiles clears his throat and looks nervously at the Marines. They'd seen more death than him for certain … what he thought, however, was that they had not seen the _type_ of death he had.

"I'll … uh, I'll tell you what I know," Stiles begins softly. "We set down on LV-426 … one of our crew members – Finnstock – was brought back on board with _something_ attached to his face … some kind of parasite," Stiles licks his lips and looks around nervously. He lands on Hale's calm face and feels something shift. The green eyes were calm and encouraging. The man _believes_ what he's saying – he takes Stiles' report seriously. "We tried to get it off but no success. After a while, it just seemed to sort of fall off and die. Finnstock looked fine … then we were having dinner and he—he – it must have laid some sort of embryo in his chest. He started – uh …"

Stiles sees the light dimming in several eyes. He was _boring_ them. He couldn't even believe that … if they only knew what he'd seen when Finnstock fell back on the table and screamed as the thing had torn its way out of his chest. Allison sighs.

"Look … all any of us need to know is where to shoot," she says, bored.

Lydia smiles and they share a quick hand-clasp. "You're the deadshot, darling."

"Anytime, anywhere," Allison assures her friend.

"As long as she doesn't break a nail," Jackson teases.

Allison flips him off over her shoulder. "Fuck you, Jackson."

"Anytime, anywhere, darling," Jackson says gleefully. He smirks at the cold look Lydia shoots him.

"Are you finished?" Stiles barks

Derek looks up. The voice of the nervous young man changes. It's colder … harsher and definitely less forgiving of their playful bullshitting. Derek's eyes narrow as he takes in the suddenly squared shoulders and the hard look Stiles directs at the soldiers.

"Look … I hope you're right. I really fucking hope you're right," Stiles says flatly. "Because just one of those … _bugs …_ managed to wipe out a crew of six in less than 24 hour. I'm the only one who lived. The others … it tore them to pieces … the ones that it didn't … _keep_. I put a bullet in my own father's head to keep whatever happened to Finnstock from happening to him. So I hope you're fucking right and it's just a broken transmitter and you all just wasted your time coming out here."

Harris nods. "This is all on the main db, so study it. Yes, private?" Harris asks, nodding toward Jackson.

"How do I get outta this organization … sir?" Jackson sneers.

Harris bristles and Derek sighs. The brash young man probably just bought them a hell of a lot of work. He was not proven wrong.

"Alright," Harris says. "I want this thing to go smooth … by the numbers. I want D.C.S. and tactical database assimilation by 0830. Ordinance loading, weapons strip and drop-ship prep details will have seven hours. Now move out!"

Deucalion moves into the space Harris vacates as he stalks off. "Alright, darlings … you heard the man and you know the drill – asshole and elbows! Jackson, get over here!"

* * *

Stiles walks into the dock after cooling his heels in the small bunk he'd been allotted. He needs to do something … to contribute or he was going to lose his mind. He walks up to Sergeant Deucalion who was discussing something with Hale. He kept his gaze as professional as he could.

"Hey," Stiles began. "I'm, uh, feeling like a fifth wheel here. Is there anything I can do?"

Deucalion looks at the young man. "I don't know, son … is there anything you _can_ do?"

Stiles smirks and looked over Deucalion's shoulder. "I can run that loader. I've got a Class 2 rating."

Deucalion and Derek share a look. "Please," Deucalion says. "Be my guest."

Stiles walks over to the Caterpillar P-5000 Powered Work Loader. He'd cut his teeth on the older versions of these years ago with his dad and had been using them since his return planet side. He slides into the machine and buckles in the harness. Locking down the roll cage, Stiles powers up the system and preps the machine for use. He thumbs the controls until he finds the loader's center and checks the movements of the forks and hands. Stiles proceeds to stomp gracefully across the deck to the nearest container. Sliding the forks into position, he easily lifts the container and swings it to look at Deucalion and Derek.

"Where'd you want it?" Stiles asks smugly.

Deucalion laughs out loud. He gestures. "Bay 12, please."

Stiles walks off with the container to the appropriate bay. This time, he did not miss the broad, amused smile that shines across Corporal Hale's face. He feels his heart flutter a little. Just a little. Maybe this would be a boring mission of repairing a broken antennae. Maybe he could get to know the corporal a little better. Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles watches silently as the drop ship prep goes forward. He clenches one hand into a fist repeatedly, trying to stave off the shakes or an all-out panic attack. The android – Scott, drives the troop carrier into the ship. Stiles does not return the smile Scott flashes him. The last android he'd had the misfortune to meet – Gerard – had pretty much killed any desire he had to trust another one. Ever.

A noise catches his attention and Stiles turns to see the Marines, now fully outfitted in body armor and weapons, run out to the 'ready line'. Stiles notes with no little appreciation how well Corporal Hale filled out his armor. He sighs internally.

_I must be completely insane, dad,_ Stiles thinks to his late father. _I'm back __here__ ... I'm going back to __that__ place ... to where it all went so fucking wrong. God I hope I'm wrong ... __please__ let me be wrong, dad. _

Deucalion walks the line of his soldiers. He growls contentedly. "Absolutely brilliant! Pack it in!"

Deucalion opens the vehicle door and the Marines pile into the vehicle. Each knows his place and slides into it ... gone are the teasing, insulting children of before ... here, they have purpose and design. Here, in this world, they are all equal and they all back one another. Weapons are stowed, roll cages locked in place. Stiles sits toward the front, out of the way with Peter. He glances down the line and catches a pair a green eyes watching him until Jackson's body obscures his view. He tries not to blush from the animal heat he saw looking at him.

Jackson walks the line of his companions, talking trash and building their egos. He's good at that ... he ramps up the adrenaline and prepares his fellow soldiers for battle. He smirks when he steps in front of Derek because he knows what the corporal is looking at – the new kid on the block. He smacks Derek playfully on the helmet.

"Down, boy," Jackson teases. "You can get all up in that after we're done showing him there isn't anything under the bed."

Derek growls but he's smiling when he does it ... he fully intends to be 'all up in that' as soon as he can alright. The kid is gorgeous and he doesn't allow his fear to paralyze him ... Derek wants to know exactly what _will_ paralyze him, but in a far more sexual way that'll probably leave both of them gasping for air. Yep ... he'll enjoy taking his time getting to know one Stiles Stilinski.

Harris sits in the command center chair and slides back and forth checking the vitals readouts and helmet cams. Erica's voice comes across the helmets as she does her prelaunch check.

"Stand by ... cross-locking now. Prelaunch auto cycle engaged," Erica announces as the ship is raised over the open airlock. "Primary couplers released. Hit the internals."

Erica's voice is steady, calm, almost bored. Her team know that when they are on the drop ship, their lives are in her hands. It's no easy task and her calmness comforts them. If she's worried, her team will never know.

Stiles swallows hard. He knows what's coming, he's studied the requirements for a drop ... still doesn't mean he's going to enjoy falling from orbit into a planet's atmosphere. He looks over and realizes the green burning gaze is back on him. He blushes but doesn't look away. Stiles thinks a faint hint of amusement darkens the eyes.

"Stand-by. Ten seconds." Erica says as she flexes her hands. "Stand by to initiate release sequencer ... on my mark."

Stiles swallows again. The countdown begins and he fights down the panic. He focuses on a spot on the deck and clears his mind while listening to the pilot's voice.

"Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark."

Stiles winced as he slammed back into his seat with the sudden g-force. He hears Jackson whooping along with the others. He keeps his eyes shut until the flight levels out with the use of the drop ship's boosters.

"Switch to D.C.S. Ranging," Vernon Boyd's voice drifts across the headset

"240 nominal to profile," Erica replies. "We're in the pipe. Five by five."

Stiles hears the pride in the pilot's voice and he understands it completely. He could fly just about anything and probably even the drop ship ... but every single flight came with risks, no matter how small or familiar. Erica had reason to be proud of her ability and Stiles knows her team is aware of it. It's a familiar routine that makes him calm a little bit more. This is familiar ground for him ... what is coming is not and never will be.

Boyd warns, "We're picking up some hull ionization."

Erica sighs. "Got it. Rough air ahead. We're in for some chop."

Stiles grips his armrest a little tighter but says nothing. As it begins to even out again, he looks over at Harris.

"How many drops is this for you, Lieutenant?"

Harris looks over with a hard swallow. "Thirty-eight. Simulated."

Lydia frowns and looks over. "How many combat drops?"

"Uh ... two. Including this one," Harris replies.

Lydia looks astounded and rolls her eyes. She looks over at Allison who shakes her head in disbelief. Jackson snorts. Even Peter and Stiles share a look. Derek makes no comment ... he's sound asleep.

* * *

Stiles watches the monitors as the ship approaches the colony. A pyramid-like structure appears out of the mist. It seems odd to Stiles to be looking at such obvious signs of life and technology here when it seems like only months ago that he was looking over desolate wasteland. He shivers at the mental comparison.

Looking over the screen, he asks, "That's the atmosphere processor?"

"Yes," Peter replies. "Remarkable piece of machinery. Completely automated – we manufacture those by the way."

Stiles snorts and looks over his shoulder at the company man. Some things, Stiles decides, will never change. He hopes again that everything will be ok. He hopes.

* * *

The team disperses neatly and with a practiced pattern. Stiles watches the monitors with his fists tucked tightly against his body under each arm. He sees little sign of habitation around the complex. Even with the inclement weather, there should be people moving about. Operating machines remotely. There should still be _life_.

Allison is the first person into the complex and her camera shows a long corridor with metal grid decking and standard pop and lock walls. Utilitarian, not for pretty. Much like the corridors on the _Beacon_. Stiles frowns at the debris scattered around and the water he can see streaming into the building from above. Something happened. Stiles knows it was nothing good.

"Sir? You copying this?" Deucalion's voice comes across soft but clear. "Looks like hits from small-arms fire ... perhaps some explosives damage. Looks like seismic survey charges. Keep it tight, people."

Harris squints at the screen then orders, "Hale, Whittemore, use your motion trackers."

Derek and Jackson unsling their trackers and begin watching the radar ping as they walk, covered by other team members. The soft puff-pop sound creates an unsettling background to their progress because that is all they hear – no high-pitched ping indicating movement of _anything_ alive. Derek voices his unease.

"Nothing ... not a fucking thing."

Stiles exhales slowly. He guesses what has happened, but maybe they were successful. Maybe somehow the colonists managed to outwit the aliens. Stiles wishes he actually believed the possibility.

"Quarter and search by twos," Harris orders.

The Marines pair off and Lydia's camera leads them into a series of rooms. Stiles blinks as he sees the wind blowing through shattered windows. Stiles can imagine all too well what came through the glass. When he sees Derek's camera pan over a half full cup of coffee and a donut missing a single bite, he _knows_.

Derek looks around and he moves toward a roughly set up barrier. Stiles' eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in as much detail of the damage as he can when he sees it.

"Wait ... tell him to – fuck," Stiles grabs a headset and tries again. "Hale ... back up, pan right ... there."

Derek looks down and Lydia comes up behind him to look down as well. Holes dot the metal deck-plates. The metal along the edges is deformed and twisted.

"Are you seeing this, lieutenant?" Derek asks, looking into Lydia's camera. "Looks melted. Somebody must have bagged one of Stiles' bad guys here."

Stiles looks back at Peter who mouths, "Acid for blood."

Stiles doesn't feel any joy at being right, unfortunately.

"If you like that," Jackson says looking into Allison's camera. "You're gonna love this."

Looking up, Allison captures a massive hole in the ceiling. Stiles blanches, remembering when they learned just how volatile the acid carried by the creatures was – how quickly it ate through five decks before losing potency before reaching the outer hull. That had only been a few drops from a facehugger ... this penetration is big enough to allow a man to climb through from the ground levels below them to the roof of the complex. A full-grown alien had perished here and God help anything that was between its blood and the ground. Jackson leans over and spits, watching his phlegm fall into the darkness. Allison casually bumps him, enjoying his rapid backpedal.

"Quit screwin' around, Argent!"

Deucalion sighs. "Second squad, what's your status?"

Derek replies. "We just finished our sweep, nobody's home."

"That's it," Deucalion says quietly. "Sir, this place is dead. Whatever happened here ... I do believe we missed it."

Harris nods. "Alright, area's secure. Let's go in and see what their computer can tell us."

Stiles turns in shock. "Uh, what? Wait a sec, it's not _secure_ -"

"The area is secure, Stilinski," Harris says dismissively. "First team, head for operations. Whittemore, see if you can get their main server back online."

"Aye-ffirmative," Jackson replies.

"Hale, meet me at the south lock. We're coming in," Harris orders.

"Roger," Derek replies.

Jackson rolls his eyes and covers his mic with one hand. "He's coming in ... I feel safer already."

Allison returns the eye-roll. "Asshole."

* * *

Stiles follows Peter and Harris into the building and through to the area just explored by the Marines. He sees signs of people trying to survive something they had no idea how to defend against. Lydia approaches Harris and reports.

"Sir, they barricaded this corridor at both ends ... welded the doors and blocked off the stairs with heavy equipment," Lydia says.

Deucalion nods. "Looks like the barricade didn't hold."

"Any bodies?" Harris asks.

"No sir," Lydia answers.

Stiles walks past objects that have no business in a main corridor - bed frames, file cabinets, desks, chairs - anything metal that could be welded together has been thrown together. Behind him, Mahealani mutters, "Last stand."

"Must have been a hell of a fight," Lydia agrees.

Stiles thinks she's underestimating how desperate a fight it had been. He follows her into the medlab, his heart hammering in his chest. The rooms are in fairly good order. Stiles knows that whatever took them moved so fast there wouldn't have been time for crashing about. No ... that had been reserved for the outer corridor. Here, they were trying to figure out what they were fighting against. Here, they were learning they were well and truly fucked. Lost in his thoughts, Stiles fails to see the specimen tubes until he's almost on top of them. He freezes and Derek walks right into him. Stiles' breathing quickens and he fights hard not to lose it. He can't lose it, not now ... not after everything.

In preservative-filled tubes float horrific examples of the thing that had ended Finnstock's life on the _Beacon_ and sent a death knell for the rest of the crew. The facehuggers are white and putrid-looking. Stiles knows they move with an evil life of their own when free. Derek's hand falls gently on his shoulder and he jumps but relaxes when he hears a deep, soft voice in his ear. "We got your back, Stiles ... let me run point."

Derek moves easily past the young man and into the room. He sweeps with weapon and eyes, his nose wrinkling at the awful things. He believed Stiles' story before, but this cements it. Everything the young man said was true – Derek resists looking back at Stiles. He's amazed and, for some odd reason, proud of the kid. He survived something that apparently an entire colony couldn't ... Derek hopes this is the only evidence they find of the aliens Stiles described. He suddenly doesn't want to know any more about them.

Peter looks at the facehuggers and glances back at Stiles. "Are those the same ones that -?"

Stiles nods. Peter continues his walk and leans in close to one of the tubes.

Horrified, Stiles warns, "_Careful_, Peter!"

Peter rolls his eyes and continues to examine the last tube on his row. Suddenly, the thing inside shifts and presses its mouth to the glass, straining to get to the host it knows is just beyond the barrier. Peter jumps back a foot while Derek grins.

"Looks like love at first sight ... _uncle_," Derek sneers. "He really likes you."

Stiles tries to keep his meager breakfast down while he watches a slender tube-like appendage press to the glass. The muscular tail whips and twists around empty space. Stiles remembers the way that tail tightened around Finnstock's neck. His hand creeps unconsciously to his own neck.

On another row, Scott examines the other tubes and reports, "Two alive, the rest are dead." Scott looks at a medical file. "Surgically removed before embryo implantation. Subject: Marachek, John J. died during procedure. They killed him getting it off."

Stiles thinks back to when they tried removing the facehugger from Finnstock. His vitals had been all over the place ... the thing had created a temporary symbiotic connection to ensure the host's survival. It had not wanted to let go.

A faint beeping sound drifts into the room followed by a shout from Danny. "Yo, Hale! I think we got something here."

Derek looks down at the tracker. "Behind us."

"One - one of us?" Stiles asks.

Deucalion, where are your people? Anyone in D block?" Harris asks.

"Negative, we're all in Operations."

Stiles suddenly feels his heart in this throat. "Oh god ..."

Derek's hand is on his shoulder again and he looks into the sharp emerald gaze. "Got your back, ok?"

Stiles nods. Derek moves out to point with Lydia. As much as he is coming to like the corporal, Stiles wishes somehow being surrounded by Marines with heavy weapons made him feel safer. He really wishes he'd stayed home with the cat.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Anybody liking this one? :-)

* * *

Lydia steps in front of Danny. Her weapon drifts with the movement of her body like an extension of her. Stiles is impressed but only slightly – he's busy trying to avoid losing what little he holds in his stomach.

"Talk to me, little Danny," Lydia says softly.

Danny glances at the tracker. "Just keep moving, gorgeous."

Stiles walks behind Derek whose rifle is also at the ready. Stiles hates this … he's too close to something he doesn't want to imagine. He's supposed to be safe … not out in the field. Harris promised him that. Stiles figures he should have realized. When money is involved, people like the ones that run the Company tend to forget promises. Tend to forget that they are human and owe their fellow humans the decency of telling them they are sharing a planet with a deadly alien species.

Stiles fights to keep his panic in control. He tries not to listen to the steady pinging of the motion tracker when Harris bumps a table and something heavy goes spinning to the floor. Stiles nearly leaps to the ceiling. He glares at Harris along with the rest of the Marine team. They continue after a moment.

"Where's it moving?" Derek asks.

Danny glances down at the tracker readout again. "It's coming straight for us ... straight up."

Stiles swallows hard. He doesn't know what he will do if the thing that haunts his dreams appears. Something unmanly … like running. He remembers running a lot on the _Beacon_. He remembers running down long, claustrophobic hallways without even being able to see what he was running _from_. Stiles bites his lower lip hard.

_Dad … please don't let it be that … please … _

The team emerges into the hallway and the beeping becomes louder. Stiles knows the higher the pitch, the closer the object. It sounds like it's only feet away. He feels tremors begin to travel his frame.

_No no no ... not a panic attack. Not now. Bad bad timing. Not now._

When a shadow went dancing across the corridor, Stiles thought he might lose the fight with himself. Lydia fired flawlessly, but Derek's rifle was suddenly redirecting the fire up and away leaving Lydia furious and the rest of them confused.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, Hale?!" Lydia screeches.

"Hold up," Derek says, calm in the face of her rage. He glances over his shoulder and Stiles realizes the man is looking directly at him. "Stilinski ... get up here."

Stiles moves forward tentatively. What could Derek _possibly_ want to show him? The larger man is almost ... _smiling_? Stiles crouches down and looks behind the grating on the sides of the corridor. Scott brings a strong beam flashlight and illuminates what looks like a little girl, Asian descent. Her dark eyes are wide with fear. Stiles immediately knows he's looking at the only survivor on LV-426.

"Hey," Stiles says softly. "Hey ... it's alright ... it's ok."

Derek reaches in as far as he can trying to grab the child. Harris sighs in irritation. "Just _grab_ her, Corporal."

The girl holds a dilapidated doll's head in her hand. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles and Stiles guesses she hasn't seen running water in a while. He feels badly about her fear.

"It's ok ... no one is gonna hurt you ... promise," Stiles says. "It's alright ... come on out. Come on."

Stiles has never really been around children but he remembers how the nurses and such would talk to him when he lost his mom. He was probably the same age as this girl. Their soft tones kept him from panicking too often. He hopes Derek can reach her.

Derek manages to snag the girl's arm. "Got her!" He then releases a bellow of pain as the girl bites him ... hard.

"Don't let her go!" Stiles yelps.

The shadow darts under the walkway and they all dash around like lunatics trying to catch her. Stiles grows steadily more frustrated as the girl dashes just out of reach. Soon she'll find her exit and they'll never catch her. Stiles sees her headed for an air ventilation duct and no one can reach her in time.

"Damn it!" Stiles yells.

He grabs the flashlight out of Scott's hands and dives for the duct. He's just slender enough to fit. The girl tries to put the grate in place before he can push into her hiding spot, but Stiles is stronger and tumbles into a small maintenance area within the duct system for the colony. He stares in shock around himself. Boxes of instant food, beverages, water containers and other deitrus fill the small space. A huge fan turns overhead, bringing fresh air into the space. It's a perfect place to hide. Out of sight, fresh air, defensible, although Stiles doesn't doubt that if the things wanted in they would find a way – he's deeply impressed and saddened at the same time. No little girl should have survival skills most of the hardened soldiers outside haven't even developed. The little girl presses back into a corner, watching Stiles warily.

"It's ok," Stiles offers. "It's alright. It's ok … see?"

The girl's eyes dart sideways and she makes a dash for the next duct. Stiles is grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back.

"Hey! Wait! It's ok! You're gonna be alright!" Stiles cries.

The girl quiets eventually and goes limp in Stiles' arms. He sighs and looks around for some sign of who she is … then he spots it. A framed picture of the little girl wearing a very pretty floral dress and smiling into the camera with her dark hair carefully braided. A tag on the frame says "Second Grade Citizenship Award – Kira Yukimura". The girl in the photo looks completely different from the one in his grasp. The photo shows a moment before she found out that monsters are real – Stiles knows that moment in his life too. Before something that could not have been created by God appeared in his life and tore it to pieces with claws and teeth and a dark, inhuman intelligence.

* * *

Stiles walks over to the windows as Derek lowers the shielding shutters. Most of the colony complexes were visible from their location. He glances shyly at Derek who returns the look with a sultry smile. Stiles blushes and then shakes his head at the gray sky.

"Not like home," he mutters.

"It would have been … few more years with the atmosphere processors and the weather systems would change. Eventually they'd be able to start altering the soil makeup and prepare it to take plant-life – little more than another twenty-five years, you'd have a planet pretty damn close to Earth," Derek says, looking at the same dull clouds.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like you know a thing or two about terraforming … _Corporal_."

It was Derek's turn to look shy. "My family business … they'd come in and set the processors up, train the colonists on maintenance and such, then leave. I traveled a lot as a kid."

"So what made you join up?" Stiles asks. "Family business seems pretty secure."

Derek falls silent. "Long story," he says, his gaze shadowing.

Stiles mentally kicks himself for always plowing ahead at warp speed. Derek looks back up, however.

"Long story but I might be tempted to tell it over a beer or two after this mission," Derek says with a soft smile that melts Stiles' resolve.

"Uh … um, yeah … yeah, that sounds … I'd like that, Corporal," Stiles replies.

"Derek."

"Hmm?"

"Name's Derek … you don't have to call me Corporal outside of the mission. You know, unless you want to?" Derek offers with a teasing look.

"Do I have to salute?" Stiles asks, returning the grin.

Derek leans close after a quick glance at who was nearby. "I think I might actually like to see that … could be hot."

Stiles swallows and knows he's probably blushing so hard he glows. "Heh … uh … wow, um … oh, hey, I gotta go see about Kira. Looking … yeah, looking forward to after … all this."

Stiles walks off before he can look any more like an idiot. Derek watches him. He doesn't look over when Jackson moves to his side.

"Little bit on the thin side, isn't he?" Whittemore observes.

"Pretty damn sure he can hold his own," Derek replies. "You managed."

Jackson grunts at Derek's reference to their once-upon-a-time liaison. "Asshole, I was in way better shape than that."

"Yes, Jackson … you're still the prettiest ass in the team," Derek teases, walking off toward the bank of computer consoles.

Danny looks over as he walks to see about Kira's vitals and medical condition. "I heard that … mine is far prettier."

Jackson and Derek laugh and go on to the next part of their job – finding the colonists. Derek watches Stiles re-enter the room with a bottle of water, a mug of something hot and a washcloth. He makes a beeline for the little girl and Derek feels something tug in his chest. He sees signs of a big heart in the young man - a survivor's heart. Derek decides he's really going to enjoy getting to know Stilinski better when this nonsense is over.


End file.
